The Prince in Exile

Chapter 3

The food arrived in short order, a passable meal. Krapfen, as it turned out, was a knot of hearty bread fried in pure animal fat–quite tasty, but heavy in the stomach. By the time the roasted game hen arrived, ludicrously coated with mustard, Erzsebet had not the appetite to manage more than a nibble. Gertrude clearly took no offense, and for her part ate only a few bites, and the rest was soon taken from their sight. The wine at least was delicious.

Certainly no princely banquet, but sumptuous compared to the fare she'd been given while awaiting audience. They talked in spurts while they ate, niceties and nothings, neither probing any further beyond the superficial. When at last Erzsebet had drunk her fill, she aimed an appropriately grateful smile to her hostess and announced that she would like to retire.

"Aww, already?" Gertrude pouted, looking all the more childish. "The night is still young, and we have much yet to talk about."

"Apologies, my lady, but I am rather tired. Unless there is some pressing matter?"

"No, no, nothing serious," she said, daintily waving her hand, but the motion slowed to a thoughtful halt. "It is only... Well, I am curious, is all–but we can save it for another time."

Erzsebet stifled her sigh, and with honeyed sweetness she asked, "What is it, my lady?"

Gertrude dropped her doe eyes, hands now clasped primly on the table's edge. "I just wondered... why you came here, to the prince's court, for refuge. Why not the king?"

Erzsebet watched her openly, reading the pose as closely as any text, as dire as a pagan of Rome who studied the flights of birds to learn the will of his gods. What made her ask this question, and why now? Such meekness could only be an act; she played the role of the innocent, lonely girl, afraid that she might be supplanted, afraid that her prince might already have set his sights elsewhere.

Such a sordid play; if this was to be the first act's drama, Erzsebet knew well enough her lines. "Why, because the king has already sided with my foe," she answered, as meek and innocent as the other. "I said as much earlier, to the prince. A royal messenger–"

"Even so," Gertrude cut in, her first transgression. There was a raw tremble to her voice, as if she only now saw the threat Erzsebet might pose. "Even so, you could have pleaded your case to the king. It is his kingdom, his servant who has sinned against your family. What justice could you hope for, from the Duke of Slavonia?" She raised her eyes, beseeching. "What exactly do you want here, my lady?"

Erzsebet held the girl's gaze, to all appearances free of guile, pure of heart. "To be honest," she eventually said, "I am not sure. I was... I was alone, and scared. I had been betrayed–over and over, betrayed, until I could trust no one. It felt like the whole kingdom had turned against me–and here was a prince who sat outside the kingdom, who had in fact turned against the kingdom. Maybe part of me wanted vengeance, however that may look, and thought I might find it here." She felt tears pushing at the corners of her eyes–a fine climax to the performance. "I think mostly I was afraid, and I wanted to find somewhere safe."

Gertrude held her stare, and there in the girl's eyes were twin glimmers of answering sympathy–for the first time, Erzsebet considered the possibility that Gertrude was being honest with her. "You are safe here," the girl promised. "I swear it."

"Thank you, my lady." Erzsebet dabbed her eyes, gave a smile that said I hope I can trust this kindness, when so many others have been false.

Blinking, Gertrude nodded, then suddenly shook her head. "Right. You said you were tired, and here I am keeping you from your rest. So selfish!" She clapped her hands, and there again was Lavina. "Show the lady Erzsebet to her new quarters, would you? And if she wants for anything, anything at all, she shall have it. Understood?"